I Could Never Leave You Alone
by 12aria34
Summary: When France is forced to cede Canada to the British, the young territory is left confused and alone. With his two new brothers trying to bond with him and France out of the picture, he must learn to forget his past. But how can you forget the only person who ever remembered you? French and Indian War. Rated T because I'm super paranoid, and no pairings as of yet.
1. Chapter 1: Storm

_February 15__th__, 1763_

It was nearly three AM, and Francis Bonnefoy couldn't sleep. The cold winds were blowing outside, making the walls of the house shake and the posts of his bed rattle. The covers weren't nearly thick enough to keep out the invading cold air that seeped through a miniscule crack in a window. Trees were slapping against the To add to it all, Francis couldn't stop thinking. A few tears were starting to soak into his pillow as he relived the past few years of fighting and bickering with Arthur. It should have been nothing, just a small argument, but the fighting escalated into war, which he had lost inevitably.

_"That obnoxious Brit,"_ he thought to himself. _"All I wanted was a little bit of control over his little brother. Really, why couldn't we just have shared him? He's too adorable not to want as a child. It's not like he had to attack me over it. Not only that, but now he's going to take _him. _I'll be alone once again–"_

There was a soft knock on the door to his room. Francis took a deep breath in, relaxing himself, and sat up in bed. He stretched his arms above his head and released them, calming his tense body. "Come in," he said groggily.

The door cracked open and allowed in a sliver of yellow light from the hall. A little boy walked in, wearing a silky blue nightgown and hugging a small stuffed bear, with fur as white as the snow outside, to his tiny heaving chest.

"What's wrong, _mon petit Matthieu?_" Francis said, standing up from the warmth of his bed and coming towards the child. He knelt before him and gave his messy hair a little tousle.

"I-I can't sleep, _papa_," he whimpered, looking up at the Frenchman through frightened violet eyes.

Francis mustered a weak smile. "I can't sleep either, _mon ange,"_ he whispered. He gently grabbed they boy's small hand within his own, feeling its soft warmth. "_This could be one of the last times… I hold him…" _He shook the thought out of his head. "Is it the wind keeping you awake?"

Matthew nodded, clutching his bear even tighter as a tree smacked the window outside. "Can… can I sleep in here?"

"Of course, Matthieu. You are always welcome here." He picked the small boy up in his arms and sat him on the bedside. Matthew rolled over to one side of the bed and lay there, watching quietly as Francis lay down next to him, crawling underneath the covers and laying his head on his pillow once again. It was silent for a moment. Only the wind raised its voice, wailing cries of loneliness outside the warm walls of the house.

_"How can I tell him?" _Francis wondered as he drifted into sleep. _"What will I say tomorrow? He won't understand what's happening. He'll hate me forever. I'll never speak to him again. And what if Arthur depreciates him? I don't want to lose him…"_

"Papa…"

"Yes, _mon ange?_"

"W-why are you crying? Does the storm scare you, too?"

Francis turned to face his little brother as his eyes began to puff up slightly with redness. "_Non_, I am thinking. That's all."

"I was thinking, too. I wasn't really scared of the storm. I…I'm sorry I lied to you." The boy clung to the sheets of the bed and pulled them up to his face, so only his eyes were visible.

Francis sat up once again. His head ached as he did so. "That's okay, Matthieu. Do you want to talk to me about it?" The boy nodded. Francis patted his hand next to him. "Here, you _can come sit by me and we can talk."_

Matthew crawled over and set himself next to his _papa_. He leaned against his chest tiredly and began to speak very softly. "There was one time… it was this week… you came home… and you… you were…" he stopped and thought, small tears filling his young eyes. "You were hurting. It scared me. You said you would be there for me… and you almost weren't, I could tell. You looked sad…why were you hurting, _papa?_"

Francis heaved a heavy sigh. The scars of the last fight he had fought were still burned into his skin, forever marking his failures. What could he tell him? How could he even begin?

"_Mon ange…_ I was in an argument with Arthur. Do you remember Arthur, from when we first met?"

Matthew nodded. Francis closed his eyes and continued.

"He has a little brother too. I wanted to get to know him, but… but he kept thinking I was taking him from him. So we started fighting. I lost that fight that day." He looked to Matthew with sorrow in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Matthieu. I never intended to frighten you like that."

"So that means you won't leave me alone, _papa?"_

_"Yes, I will. There isn't even a way around it. I want to love you, Matthieu. I need to. But there are things that must be settled. It will be better, though, I promise. Please. Please forgive me."_

"No," he lied. "I would never leave you alone."

_**A/N: And there's the beginnings of this story. More chapters are to come within time, even if it takes a while... thank you so much for reading! **_


	2. Chapter 2: The Trade

The clock said it was half past six when Francis awoke the next morning. Birds were just starting to sing, and the sun was peeking over the horizon line, coloring the sky with streaks of orange and pink, a watercolor painting come to life. The snow on the ground was glistening with a new sheet of ice formed over the top of it, and little animals scurried over the top of it, skating along to their destinations.

After only three hours of sleep, Francis' eyes felt tired and his body ached all over. He turned groggily towards the other side of the bed, where Matthew was still asleep. His small body rose and fell as he breathed softly, his mouth just slightly open. The violet eyes that shone in the darkness last night were closed tightly, watching dreams as he slept. He was using his bear to rest his head on, and he clutched the blankets around him tightly.

Sighing, Francis stood quietly and stretched, knowing that the task ahead was going to be difficult. He grabbed a small bag from out of his closet and made his way down the hall and into the young boy's room. The walls were decorated with drawings of tall stacks of crepes and pancakes, red leaves, and his teddy bear, all done on yellowing parchment paper. The bed was still messy from last night, the red comforter thrown over the side from continued tossing and turning. A small dresser sat in the corner, with small toys in one drawer and the boy's clothing in the rest.

He reluctantly opened one of the drawers and began to pull out clothes, putting them gently in the bag. He made sure to handle each garment with care, looking at every last stitch, memorizing the patterns, feeling the soft silkiness. They fell into the bag, blue and red fabric folded neatly, small leather shoes placed next to them, a warm jacket inside as well. Soon, the toys found their way inside as well. Small wooden soldiers, that had remained untouched because of the child's passive nature, were taken from their barrack in the drawer. A train that had been unused as well was also put into the mix.

"_Why is he so passive?" _Francis thought. _"I've never known a child to like drawing better than playing with his toys. He is so strange. So unique."_

After shutting his eyes tightly and taking another deep breath, he made his way to the small wooden desk in the corner of the room. He began packing a few books with various French titles, taking a few charcoal pencils and placing them neatly inside, getting a few pieces of parchment rolled for future drawing. As he reached to pick up the last piece on the table, he noticed a drawing, tucked away near the corner of the desk, next to a small candle.

It was crudely drawn by small hands, a mere doodle to most looking at it. It showed him and Matthew outside in the snow, building a snowman that was stationed in between the two of them. It had a crooked smile and a triangular carrot nose, a tall hat was placed on top of its head. It had only been a few weeks ago when he had been built, but he had long since melted with the impending spring and slightly warmer weather.

"_Papa, I'm building a snowman!" Matthew said excitedly. He showed Francis the lump of snow he had been packing into a large ball._

"_It's beautiful, Matthieu!" he replied, kneeling in the snow to get a closer look. There were small handprints where the snow had been packed and tried to be made smooth. "Do you want me to help you build it?"_

_Matthew nodded and began piling more snow onto the figure, careful not to get any grass in it. Francis began rolling another ball of snow to place on top of the other. The icy snow crunched under his feet, packing down into footprints that trailed around the yard. _

_Suddenly, Matthew was next to him, watching him roll the midsection of the snowman around the yard. His face was glowing as though it was one of the greatest parades he had seen as snow began falling from the sky and landing softly in his hair. Francis expected that the boy would try to help, but he just watched, knowing that the ball of snow was just too heavy for him now, and was left to wonder about the strength he would have someday._

"Papa?"

Francis snapped out of his trance like state. He quickly grabbed the drawing from off of the desk and put it in the bag. "_Oui, Matthieu?"_

"Why are you packing my clothes away?" the boy asked tiredly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"You're… you're going away for a little while," he replied, handing him his things. Matthew looked confused, his face scrunched up with thinking as he grabbed the bag.

"But where am I going to?" he asked.

There was a knock on the door. _"Tôt encore! Toujours en avance pour tout!"_ Francis exclaimed, frantically racing to the foyer of the house. He opened the door to see Arthur, as he had expected. The Englishman nodded in greeting, and Francis returned the favor. Matthew hid behind Francis' leg, watching the man who stood at the door with worry.

"Good morning, Francis," Arthur said, his face expressionless and professional.

"_Bonjour_, Arthur," Francis replied, reaching down to grab the tiny hand wrapped tightly around his knee.

"Is this him?" he asked, looking down at Matthew. The boy tried to shrink away and run back to his room.

"_Oui_, this is Matthieu. He's a little shy, but a very sweet boy." Francis picked him up in his arms and looked into those two large violet eyes again. They were as fearful as they were last night during the storm and held an image of shattered trust. The Frenchman averted his gaze back to Arthur before he could begin to tear up.

"Hello, Matthew," Arthur exclaimed, his face suddenly animated and smiling. "My name's Arthur. I think you remember meeting me earlier, right?"

Matthew nodded quickly and reached around Francis' neck, hugging him closer. Arthur sighed. "You're coming to stay with me from now on. We have to hurry, though, it's a long trip. We won't make it before nightfall if we don't hurry…" He looked to Francis expectantly.

Francis swallowed hard. He unhooked the tiny hands from behind his neck and set the in the British man's arms. Matthew couldn't speak; he was too timid and too shocked. After a moment, he muttered something to Francis.

"What was that?" the Frenchman asked, obviously about to cry once the door closed.

"You told me… you wouldn't leave me alone…" the boy said, his voice shaking.

Francis stroked the boy's hair and grabbed his hand tightly. "I'm not leaving you alone. You're just going with a different family now, that's all. I'm always here with you, _mon ange._"

"Always?"

"Always."

The Frenchman released his grip. Arthur walked with Matthew to the carriage as the doors closed. Francis watched from the window as the boy was placed gently in the back of the carriage next to Arthur. Matthew's head turned to look at Francis, the scared violet eyes shining with tears, and the carriage pulled out of the drive and began its way down the empty street.

_**A/N: I almost forgot it was in colonial times… oops. Thank you for reading.**_


End file.
